Walking Around in the City

So I made the move to Chicago in November of 2007.  My reasons were twofold:  First, I was ready to get out of Mississippi.  Second, I thought it would be a good idea to get my first winter out of the way.  Now, I had visited Chicargo (as many older Southerners call it) several times, mostly in the winter.  I even spent a week in Wisconsin each January for a few years visiting friends.  Naturally, I thought I was prepared.  Faithful readers (me), let me let you in on a little tidbit.  Visiting a city during the winter and living in a city during the winter are two completely different things.  When you're visiting, the cold is a novelty.  You spend most of your time indoors drinking, and when you venture outside for a few minutes, you're drunk.  At least I was.  Am.  Whatever.  You jump in a cab when you need to go somewhere and chalk it up to another vacation expense.  When you actually live in the cold, go to work in the cold, have to go to the grocery in the cold, have to step outside of a bar to smoke in the cold because the friggin bastards instituted a smoking ban 2 months after you moved to the God-forsaken city, it's a different story.  And as plentiful as cabs are in Chicago, one will quickly go broke taking one each day.  Wanting to fully emerge myself into the city life, and desperately needing the money to do so,  I sold my car in Mississippi and placed myself at the mercy of the Chicago Transit Authority.  I must say that I am one of the lucky ones.  Directly outside of my apartment are two different bus stops, and I am a short 2 block walk to the El.  In my mind, I would never have to wait for a bus, because when I needed one they would sit outside my apartment and honk the horn, much like the school buses of my youth.  In Chicago, that doesn't quite work.  So, you have to stand outside and wait.  For a good twenty or thirty minutes sometimes.  And it never fails that if you wait more than 15 minutes, as soon as you board your bus, you see another one directly behind it.  You'd think these people could figure this shit out.  But you'd be wrong.

Walking the two blocks to the train seems like nothing at all.  Except when the windchill doesn't quite creep up to zero.  Which is most days in January and February.  Not only is it beyond cold, this is the Windy City.  And I'm pretty sure that Chicago wind hates me because it does not matter which direction I travel in, the wind is always in my face.  I could stand outside and do pirouettes (which I do sometimes for fun if I happen to be wearing my Capezio's) and every which way I turn, I will be blasted with arctic air.

Anyway, not long after moving here I got a job in the West Loop neighborhood.  According to Google Maps (my new bestie up until the Sysco Fiasco), it was 6.7 miles from my apartment to Carnivale.  Now, for me to actually get there, I would walk the 2 blocks to the Brown Line station, and take the Brown Line down into the Loop.  From there, I would board a Pink Line and take that to the 1st stop.  Then, it was a 3 block walk.  Somehow, most days it would take about an hour and a half to go this 6.5 miles.  How?  You tell me.

Anyway, one night in January, I get off work.  I'm walking the three blocks east towards the train.  I've got a Diet Coke in one hand, a Parliament Light in my mouth, and my cell in the other hand talking to my friend Reba (no relation).  I'm walking, walking, talking, sipping, walking, puffing and then bam....spread eagle on my stomach.  In the middle of the street.  My Diet Coke rolls into the Chicago River.  Reebs is telling me some story and I'm moaning in pain.  I explain what just happened.  I carefully pick myself up and continue on my journey.  About 15 feet later, bam.  Same thing.  Reebs asks me what I've had to drink.  Sadly, only about half a DC.  There are, of course, a steady stream of cars going up and down Wells Street while I'm doing my crawl of shame.  So, I pick myself up.  I ever-so-carefully maneuver my way further down the street.  Have a near slip.  Recover.  Pat myself on my back, which of course causes me to lose focus, so, say it with me...BAM.  Damn it.  Tell Reebs that I've got to go because I have some serious internal bleeding I need to tend do.  Once again, peel myself off of the ice, wave to the kind motorists who have slowed to point and laugh.  And wouldn't you know it, I fell a fourth friggin time.  At this point, I'm Kristi Yamaguchi sliding down Wells Street.  On the plus side, in the next two blocks I was able to nail my triple salchow, double toe loop.  I'd give myself an 8.8 for a technical score, but def a 9.6 in artistic.  It's hard to be graceful when you have absolutely no shame, several bruised ribs, a possibly punctured spleen, wearing 3 jackets and a backpack, but I did a pretty damn good job.  I made it home and vowed to not leave my apartment until March.

Of course, once I got home I realized I was out of cigs.  So, I have to make my now nightly trip 4 blocks away to CVS.  I start walking ever-so-slowly down my sidewalk.  I don't have much traction, but I think I'm kinda doing okay.  I just can't walk faster than 2 feet per minute.  Normally, a walk there takes about 10 minutes, but as I'm sliding and cussing people for not shoveling their sidewalks, I'm estimating that it's going to take me about 45 minutes to get there.  I finally make my way to the half way point and need to cross the street.  The ice is extremely slick all around this corner and I realize I'm not going to be able to do it.  I get really freaked out.  I don't know what to do.  I'm in the middle of this ice patch, and anyway I go I'm bound to fall.  So, what do I do?  I stand there and cry.  I feel like I do need to let anyone who might be reading this that contrary to my posts, I'm not a crier.  Except during Brothers and Sisters.  I never cry.  But I'm so disoriented (no doubt from my internal injuries), scared to fall again and seriously injure myself, frustrated, cold, sore, and pissed at myself for getting myself into this situation that I have no choice but to stand there.  For a good 5 minutes.  Trying to plan my next move.  Finally, and I kid you not, I kneel down, carefully lay my arms in front of me, and crawl down the sidewalk to the street.  I prop myself up against a car (in the process freezing my hand to it) and wait for a cab to take me 2 blocks to CVS.  I make him wait outside.  Make my purchase.  He drops me off in front of my door.

The moral of this story?  If you're from the South, stay there.  It's just not worth it.  We weren't bred for this.